But Sinclair hesitated. It was necessary for her to urge him a second time.
“Well?” she demanded, with a flash of swift impatience.
Annette missed the meaning of Sinclair’s hesitation. She missed the cunning that grew in the man’s smile. She failed to realize that his gaze had wandered and was searching the distance. She saw nothing in that moment but her own triumph, and her own desire for him to go on.
“You know, kid, I’ve wanted all along to have you marry me,” the man said. “I’ve wanted that since ever I saw your dandy eyes that couldn’t help telling me all a feller yearns for in life. I bin crazy for you. I’ll go right on being crazy for you all my life. But—but I haven’t a thing but my p’lice pay. And that wouldn’t buy a right feedin’ bottle for our swell kiddie. Then there’s regulations. Oh, I don’t mean they forbid a constable getting married. They don’t. But the government makes it hard as hell for that to happen. And when it does it’s queer how quick the married boy finds himself quitting the Force. You got to be a corporal at least. Then the Superintendent, the Inspector, the Sergeant-major, they’ll all hand you all they know, so you can fix yourself and your wife right. I’m not a corporal. I’m only a constable. But I’m going to be a corporal. Later, I’m going to be a sergeant-major. And maybe, even, in a while, an inspector. I’ll get to be all those things later, if—you’ll help me right now.”
The girl’s expression changed with every phase of her feelings as she listened to the man’s carefully considered words. And as he ceased speaking her eagerness was beyond her control.
“Say, Ernie! How? You only need to say how. Help you? Why, ther’ ain’t a thing I wouldn’t do.”
“Isn’t there?”
Sinclair came close up to the rail. He bent down so that his face was on a level with Annette’s. He looked squarely into the eyes which peered out from her storm collar, and he used all the force of will he possessed.
The girl gestured eloquently.
“Not a thing.”